


This is a Terrible Idea

by JustAGirl24



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Barbecue, Beach Volleyball, F/M, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4399433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAGirl24/pseuds/JustAGirl24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery convinces Brienne to go to their high school reunion and promises to find her a date for the day. </p><p>Brienne certainly wasn't expecting it to be her best friend, Jaime Lannister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I wrote Round One. And would you believe it was going to have legit plot and everything? This is that plot.

“No.” 

Jaime paused at her refusal, tempted to gape nearly as widely as Brienne had when she first opened her door. 

“Sorry, what?"

“No,” Brienne repeated firmly. “Absolutely not. _You_ are not taking me within a mile of that place. I’ll be a laughingstock, and Marg really should have known better.” 

Placing a hand to his temple and rubbing at the headache suddenly materializing above his left eye, Jaime let himself consider the situation. When Margaery had called him a few days ago and mentioned that he might like to be Brienne’s plus-one to their five-year reunion—a barbecue at the beach—he’d assumed that Brienne had known as well. He should have known better with Margaery’s penchant for meddling. 

“Are you telling me,” he asked carefully, “that you were not expecting me here today?” 

“Of course not!” Brienne answered explosively. “Look at you! How could I go to my reunion with you? They’ll all think I hired an escort or—or—” Jaime looked down at himself—loose tan cargo shorts and a red Hawaiian print shirt, unbuttoned over a black ribbed A-frame—and didn’t see anything that called for her wordless howl. 

“Brienne,” he tried gently, but with no response. “Brienne!” he tried again sharply, walking her backwards into her apartment. She stumbled and he grabbed her elbow, nudging the door closed behind him. “Brienne, I’m more than happy to take you to your reunion. Say you’ll let me,” he asked with a mischievous smile and a courtly half-bow, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Nooo!” she near-shrieked, and even—gods, did the wench just stamp her foot? “Look at me! Look at _you_! What was Marg _thinking_? This is a _terrible_ idea! I’m only going to this stupid thing because she insisted on it!” And on and on—Jaime was sure he’d never seen anything like it from Brienne, whom he’d been friends with for well over a year now, and who was never anything less than steady. 

He was starting to get a little offended—was he dressed wrong? was he too old?—and had become more than a little sick of listening to her negative self-commentary months ago. 

“Wench,” he said carefully, “we are going to your reunion. We will have shitty beer, we will play volleyball, we will eat rubbery grilled food and potato chips, and then you can come home and change back into your rattiest pajamas for the rest of the night.” 

Brienne shook her head mutely, then finally spoke. “I don’t know how you can stand to be seen with me,” she muttered. “I look like a mess and you look like—like—” she floundered, and Jaime raised an eyebrow, “like your usual stupid perfect self!” she finished in a rush, face and chest blushing fiercely. Jaime grinned and preened, stretching to raise his undershirt just so, feeling the shorts slide down one hip. He winked, watching her blush darken, and took a moment to really look at her. She thought she looked like a mess? He couldn’t have disagreed more. 

Brienne was glaring at him, arms crossed and lower lip jutting out mulishly. None of it took away from her bright eyes rimmed with long, pale lashes. White denim shorts rode high on toned, freckled thighs—which, if he was being honest, he couldn’t stop staring at—and his palms itched to see if the sleeveless blue top she was wearing was as silky as it looked. His gaze ran down her legs, barely registering the flat, strappy sandals and apple-red toenails as a picture flashed through his mind of those legs wrapped high around his back, her strong arms pulling him tight as she arched under him, and—Jaime tried to swallow through his suddenly dry throat. 

He absolutely was not going to think about the interest his cock was showing at the idea. Instead, he heaved a sigh and sat on the sofa he’d come to love so well. He crossed his arms and stared back, waiting for Brienne. After a few tense moments, she sat beside him, trying to pull her shorts down as far as they would go—not very, he noticed—and blushing furiously. She finally seemed to give up, heaving a sigh of her own and slumping back into the cushions. 

“You wanna tell me what’s really bothering you about all this?” Jaime asked gently, and waited while Brienne fidgeted with her freshly-manicured cuticles, blowing a puff of air up through her bangs, still refusing to look at him. “Why did Margaery ask me to do this?” _Why didn’t you?_

“I’ve never told you about the bet,” she muttered. “I never wanted you to picture me like that.” Jaime raised an eyebrow, thinking of a night almost a year ago where she’d seen him at his most pathetic, heard the worst about him, but said nothing as she glanced at him. She sighed again, picked at her cuticles some more. “It was…just some guys in high school. I was new, it was my freshman year. Some of them were in my grade, some were in other classes. Um—” her voice cracked a little, “they had a bet to see who could, um, get me into bed first?” She risked looking at him again, and Jaime tried to keep his face neutral, but _fuck,_ who even did something like that? Not convinced he could keep his own voice steady, he simply nodded at her to continue. Brienne took a deep breath. 

“They didn’t—I mean, no one won the bet, it seemed too fishy, you know? All these guys wanting to sit with me or bringing me gifts or whatever. But when I found out, it just—I mean, I had school with these guys for the next three years, you know? I was a laughingstock. And I didn’t want to go to the reunion, but Marg convinced me that I needed ‘closure’.” She snorted, and Jaime smiled a little at that—he knew Brienne liked dealing with her feelings about as much as he did. She shook her head a little, and said, “You know Marg, she can’t take no for an answer. She said she’d get me a date for the day so I felt more comfortable,” and here she shot him a rueful smile, “and she did—all this, I guess,” and Brienne gestured at herself, from her face to the barely-there shorts to the sandals. “I just thought she’d ask someone I’d look like I belonged with,” she muttered to her knees. 

At her last statement, Jaime sat straighter in his seat, burning with anger at everyone who had made her feel that way, that she wasn’t enough and never would be, when he _knew_ she was better than he’d ever deserve. 

“That’s it,” he rumbled and stood up. “We’re going.” She shook her head _no_. 

“Briennnne,” he teased, leaning over and tugging on her arms, but she rolled her eyes, stubbornly staying in her seat. “It’s not enough to have closure.” She shrugged. 

“Are you a coward?” Jaime grinned as he threw the words she’d spoken to him a year ago back at her. She looked outraged, her spine rigid, blue fire in her eyes. “Come on, you can use my ‘stupid perfect self’ to show them up.” He gave her his most winning smile, the one that never failed to make her blush and look away. He held out his hands palm-up, one smooth, the other lined with shiny, pale-pink scars. 

She stared a moment at his offered hands, then grasped his fingers with her own, rising to her feet. “It’d be a shame to waste all of Margaery’s efforts, right?” He tipped his chin up a fraction to look into her eyes. She smiled tentatively back at him. 

“Yeah,” she finally said. “Let’s go.” 

“You’re gonna wear your bikini, right?” 

Brienne growled and shoved his shoulder. “Don’t push it, Lannister.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime meets Hyle. Brienne lectures Jaime on the dangers of UV exposure.

Jaime hadn’t been sure what to expect, but after a couple hours of being at Brienne’s reunion, he was actually having fun. They were seated at a picnic table with Margaery, along with a few girls whose names Jaime couldn’t remember, but who had been on the basketball team with Brienne. It was perfect beach weather, sunny and hot. A fresh breeze blew in from the ocean, redolent with the smell of barbeque. Renly, class president of 2010, had given a thankfully brief welcoming speech, and there were hamburgers and bratwurst under the pavilion.

Maybe he hadn’t consciously gone into this whole thing trying to make things look more realistic between Brienne and himself, but after the first few times of putting his arm around her waist—and fetching her a plastic cup or two of some truly shitty beer—calling her ‘sweetling’ and ‘love’, Brienne had started to relax and go along with him, giving him a roll of her eyes when he laid it on a little too thick.

And Brienne—he couldn’t have been prouder. She was never one for much socializing—gods knew he was one of her very few friends—but she was holding her own in the awkward, stilted small talk that seemed to be required at these types of things. He wondered if his being there had anything to do with it, hoped she was relieved by his presence.

Jaime left to get them refills. He’d just gotten the bartender’s attention when he felt someone nudge him from the side. He turned to find a smarmy-looking guy, wearing a bright orange polo shirt which made him look sallow. He grinned at Jaime.

“Can I help you?” Jaime asked politely. 

“I see you’re here with ‘The Beauty.’” Smarmy Guy smirked, a hint of laughter in his tone.

“I’m here with Brienne, actually,” Jaime responded with a tight smile.  “And you are…?”

“Oh, Hyle! Hyle Hunt,” was the reply, accompanied by an enthusiastic handshake.  “Ah, I tried to get ol’ Beauty to go out with me in high school… never could get her to say yes,” he finished with a sad shake of his head. Jaime wondered if this was one of the guys who’d been in on the bet, and nearly saw red.

“That’s interesting,” he ground out, and accepted two cups from the bartender.  “I really must be going, though.”  He pointedly ignored Hyle’s equally enthusiastic goodbye as the man made his way over to a cluster of men who were watching them avidly. Jaime searched the area for Brienne, and found her standing at another table with her back to him, talking animatedly to someone he couldn’t see.  Jaime wound his way through the crowd and back to her side, sliding a hand around her waist and hiding a smile in her shoulder as she jumped slightly.  He wordlessly passed Brienne one of the plastic cups he held, then turned to smile at—ah, Margaery.  She was looking at him with narrowed cat’s eyes and a rather self-satisfied expression, taking in the hand on Brienne’s waist. Brienne flushed as she lifted the cup to her lips, seeming at a loss of what to say now that Jaime had returned.  He returned Margaery’s gaze with an innocent smile of his own, continuing as if nothing were out of place, but winced internally when he thought about Margaery grilling Brienne later.

“I just met an old friend of yours,” Jaime mentioned casually, both women looking at him sharply. “Hyle Hunt?” From the corner of his eye, he noticed Margaery’s face darken, but he kept his gaze locked on Brienne’s, seeing how her skin paled noticeably at the name. Jaime swallowed, wondering if he’d been right to think the man had been involved in the bet. “Was he—” Brienne shook her head minutely, but the desperation was clear on her face. _Not here, not now._

The squeal of a microphone pierced the air, and all the people clustered around turned to look. Renly had already given his welcoming speech.

“Hi everyone!” Renly called, waving his fingers. “Beach volleyball in ten, meet by the nets if you want to join.” There was a hiss of static, and the microphone clicked off.

“I call you for my team, wench.” Jaime squeezed her hip, enjoying the way the muscles shifted against his palm, the slight give of firm flesh beneath his fingertips. Her stubby ponytail brushed his cheek as she turned back to look at him.

_“It’s Brienne,”_ she hissed. Neither of them even noticed when Margaery wandered off.

“Sure.” He shrugged and grinned. “Let’s go kick some ass. _Wench._ ”

Her blue eyes seemed to glow at the challenge. “I’m wearing my suit under this, I just need some sunscreen.” Brienne went to their bags in a shadowy corner of the pavilion, pulled a bottle of sunscreen from her duffel, and set it on a nearby table before toeing off her sandals. But Jaime was unprepared when she pulled her shirt off, followed by her shorts, her movements brusque. His breath froze in his chest as he watched strong muscles shift under smooth, freckled skin, stark against the black of her suit. It was modest, a tank top with swim shorts all trimmed in blue, which revealed more pale skin as she crouched to pick up her clothes, shoving them into the duffel. _Well, not a bikini, but a tankini was close enough._ He couldn’t tear his gaze away as she stood and faced him, all long legs and, for just a moment, unselfconscious grace. Brienne noticed him staring, flushing bright red from her chest to her hairline, and he grinned. She shifted nervously, grabbing the sunscreen and fiddling with the top.

“Did you want to put your shirt in my duffel?” she asked.

Jaime’s grin turned almost predatory. “Why _Brienne,_ ” he gasped, “are you trying to get me naked?” Her blush darkened, her mouth opening and closing as she stared at him. He couldn’t help but laugh, shrugging out of the unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt as she spluttered out a denial. _Gods,_ she was so much fun to rile up. He was still chuckling as he pulled the bottom of his undershirt from his shorts, then reached behind himself to pull the whole thing over his head. He would swear he heard her squeak before she mumbled something about Margaery and sunscreen.

“Suit yourself, wench.” His voice was muffled in his shirt, but she must have heard him anyway.

_“Brienne,”_ she growled as his shirt came off, her feet making soft _shush-_ ing sounds as she walked away from him. Her back was straight, the nape of her neck still pink with embarrassment.

“Brienne,” Jaime called, and she spun around. He was intensely gratified at the way her eyes seemed to trail over his bare chest for a moment before shooting back up to his eyes. He smirked as the blush which had faded to pink rushed back in a brilliant wash of red.

It was moments like this that he wondered—hoped—he wasn’t alone in his growing attraction.

“I could help you out,” he offered, trying for his most innocent look, the one his Aunt Genna never could resist, all dimples and big eyes. Brienne shot him a narrowed gaze, her arms crossed over her chest. Finally she nodded, handing him the tube as he dropped the undershirt on top of her bag.

“Just my back and shoulders,” she murmured, a slight tremor in her voice as she turned around.

He opened the sunscreen, squeezing some into his hands as he took a moment to let his gaze move over the nape of her neck, the delicate skin spattered and daubed with a multitude of freckles. He’d thought about that neck more and more lately, thought about coming up behind her, brushing her short hair to the side, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses behind her ear. He shook the thoughts from his head with a sigh, using short, perfunctory motions on her neck and back until all the lotion was rubbed into her skin. He wondered if he was imagining the goosebumps prickling up her arms.

“All done,” he finally announced, handing the tube back to her.

Brienne frowned. “Don’t you need some?” she asked, holding the sunscreen back out to him.

Jaime shrugged and grinned, running a hand over his tanned chest. “I don’t burn.” Brienne rolled her eyes, making an exasperated sound like a horse. “I never wear sunscreen.”

“Of course you don’t,” she grumbled, then louder, with a stern expression on her face, “That’s a terrible idea. You should still be concerned about skin cancer.” She almost sounded scolding, to his amusement.

“I’m gonna grab another beer. You want one?” he offered, ignoring the lecture. He didn’t think he could take feeling her run her hands over his bare back. “I’ll meet you at the nets.”

“Might as well,” she mumbled, squeezing a line of lotion down her arm. “You know what I like.”

Jaime grinned as she concentrated on rubbing the lotion into her arm, and struggled to bite his tongue. _Not yet, Brienne,_ he thought. _Not quite yet._

“Don’t forget your legs, wench,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Let me know if you need any help with them.” His laughter bounced off the ceiling of the empty pavilion, her growled _shove it_ like music to his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ikkiM is the best beta EVAR. Thanks so much for making this halfway decent. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery is a pot-stirrer. Hyle and Ron are going _down._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...this experience has taught me to never attempt two multi-chapter fics at the same time. My apologies for the long delay, but now that To Murder and Create is finished, this is my main focus. Probably.

Jaime stood by a row of volleyball nets, Brienne shifting nervously next to him, her bare toes wriggling into the golden sand. She kept crossing and uncrossing her arms, swinging them at her sides, then bringing them up to cross over her chest once more. He wondered whether it was her exposed skin or the crush of so many people that had her so uncomfortable. Jaime edged closer and caught her hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze, smiling and nudging her shoulder with his. He felt a twinge low in his gut at the press of her bare arm against his, her damp palm against his fingers. Brienne licked her lips, eyes squinting in the bright sunlight, and squeezed back, then drew her hand away to begin popping her knuckles.

“What’s got you so on edge, wench?” Jaime murmured teasingly, watching her from the corner of his eye.

Brienne glared at him balefully. “Brienne,”she grumbled. She’d stopped fidgeting in her irritation, he noticed with a grin, which had been his goal.

“What’s got you on edge, _Brienne.”_ He let her name roll over his tongue, all soft consonants and smooth vowels.

Brienne gave a small jerk of her head to where a pair of men stood nearby. One of them Jaime recognized from earlier, the one he’d talked to at the bar. Kyle? _Ah, Hyle,_ he remembered. He was talking with the other man, whose weak chin was partially covered by a short red beard. Jaime felt his lip curl with distaste.

“Are they the assholes you were telling me about at your apartment?  Hyle?” he muttered.

Brienne shrugged. “And Ron. Two of them, anyway.”

Jaime wanted to ask her more, but Renly was clapping his hands together for attention, and Jaime fell silent. He’d behave for Brienne. _Well, mostly,_ he silently corrected himself. He half-listened to Renly as he explained the basics of beach volleyball—teams of two, no more than three touches on each side, first to fifteen points wins—but was paying more attention to Hyle and his friend as he imagined spiking a ball at their heads.

“—pretty informal, so everyone just pick a court and a side, and we’ll get started!” Renly finished, and Brienne shoved his shoulder lightly towards the next net over. Jaime cast his eyes over the rest of the teams and noticed Margaery standing on the edges with a camera. She gave a little wave and a grin, looking at Brienne meaningfully before turning to talk to Renly and another man who could only be her brother.

Jaime never could decide how he felt about Margaery. She always seemed to wear a smile which suggested she knew something he didn’t. Her knowing glances left him feeling mildly irritated, wondering if she’d figured him out and what she might have said to Brienne. He looked at his wench again. She seemed more relaxed than she had been earlier, and wondered if it had anything to do with the duo on the other side of the net—two women Jaime didn’t think he’d met, but at least it wasn’t Hyle’s team. For Brienne’s sake, he hoped they could avoid them for the rest of the day.

“Excuse me,” Jaime heard a high voice behind him and turned to see two girls, one of whom he recognized meeting earlier from Brienne’s basketball team. “I’m Roslin. Would you mind switching places with me and Talisa? We were hoping to play against Jeyne and Eleyna.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” he heard Brienne reply. Jaime smiled and shrugged, following Brienne to the next court over. He heard her muffled groan and looked around to see Hyle and Ron on the other side of the net.

“Beauty!” the man with the red beard— _Ron,_ she’d said his name was—bellowed with a grin.

Brienne stiffened next to him, and Jaime moved closer to casually slide his arm around her waist. She held herself carefully, vibrating with coiled tension.

Jaime turned his head a fraction. “We don’t have to do this,” he murmured, lips just brushing the shell of her ear, “but we could totally kick their ass.”

Brienne turned to look at him, her face and neck flushed a dark red, her eyes bright. “We are _so_ doing this.”

Jaime grinned, biting into his lower lip as Brienne smiled back. He squeezed her hip, letting his hand fall as Margaery sauntered by, passing out volleyballs. She smirked as she handed one to Brienne. “Does Jaime know how well you handle balls?”

Jaime tried to disguise his laugh as a cough while Brienne gaped at her friend. Margaery batted her lashes and smiled unapologetically, waving her fingers and moving on to the next court.

“She is just— I can’t _believe_ —” Brienne spluttered, looking absolutely mortified. Jaime couldn’t hold his laughter back anymore, his shoulders shaking as she continued to fume.

Thankfully, Renly announced that they were ready to begin before Brienne could work herself into too much of a snit. “Whoever wins goes on to the next round!” he yelled. “Have fun!”

“You ready?” Jaime called to Team Asshole, as he decided to name them, walking towards the net.

Ron smirked as he joined Jaime at the net, Hyle still a bit away. “Born that way,” he drawled out. “How about you and your dog?”

It took Jaime a moment to process what the other man had said to him, and another moment to swallow back his rage as he heard Brienne’s sharply indrawn breath at his back. He smiled coldly. “More than. I’ll even give you first serve.” Jaime passed the volleyball under the net, digging it into Ron’s gut, relishing his surprised little _oof_.

Ron straightened, teeth bared, eyes narrowed. “Care to make a little wager?”

Jaime raised his eyebrows with a smirk. “Absolutely.”

“We win, you tell everyone what you’re getting paid for this.”

A bark of laughter escaped Jaime before he could pull it back in. “Sure thing. We win, you _leave_.” He looked over at Hyle, who seemed to be amused by the whole thing. _“Both_ of you.”

“Deal.” Ron spat in the sand near Jaime’s feet and roughly pushed the volleyball back into his hands. “You’re gonna need first serve. Hyle and I are the number one team at the country club,” he said smugly.

Jaime gave a mock salute and took a step back as Team Assholegot into position, then looked at Brienne. “You want the honors?” he offered her the ball. Brienne grinned fiercely and took the volleyball, and Jaime was struck by how captivating she was, radiant with the thrill of competition.

She took a few steps back, tossing the ball high in the air, hitting it with an open palm. Ron rushed forward, barely bumping the volleyball back over the net. Jaime bent his knees as Brienne took a step to the side, bumping the ball, jumping up as the ball came his way to set it with both hands. Brienne ran a couple steps and jumped to spike the ball over the net, a loud _thwack_ sounding as her fist met leather.

The ball landed in the sand, Hyle falling to his knees as he scrabbled to get to it in time. With an ugly scowl, Ron kicked the ball back under the net, which Jaime scooped up easily.

“I thought you were ready!” he said with a smirk, rolling the ball between his palms before tossing it to Brienne.

“One and oh!” she called, throwing the ball up and serving it over the net, Hyle bumping it back over toward Brienne. He was trying to ignore the curve of her ass in those tiny swim shorts as she half-crouched to bump the ball. Jaime pulled his eyes away just in time to set the ball.  Brienne sprang forward, jumping up to spike the ball. _Thwack!_

The match continued for the next half hour, Ron and Hyle becoming visibly more frustrated as the sun beat down on them. The score was 9-0 when they scored their first point, Hyle falling to his knees for a dig as the volleyball nearly hit the sand, Ron managing to spike it back over the net. Jaime leapt to his right, but his scarred hand wouldn’t quite cooperate. The ball fell to the ground.

Jaime sauntered over, picked it up, and lobbed it back over the net. “Glad you could finally make it!” he called, not even trying to keep the laughter from his voice. Hyle flipped him the bird.

“Jaime,” Brienne muttered, a hint of warning in her voice. He turned to meet her gaze, watching a smile form on her face.

“You love it, wench,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes as Hyle called the score, both preparing for the defense as he served the ball over the net.

Jaime watched the volleyball spinning through the air and put a hand out to stop Brienne. “Foul!” he cried, right before it landed on the other side of the line near Brienne. Ron turned on Hyle, muttering angrily and jabbing a finger towards the ball.

Brienne crouched to retrieve the ball, then tossed it to Jaime. This was a terrible idea, and she might kill him for it later—but at the moment, adrenaline pumping through his veins, he didn't care. These assholes were going _down,_ and he was exhilarated _._ He twirled the ball on his finger before stepping over to her. Jaime took a deep breath as he tucked the ball under his arm, and wrapped his other hand around her neck. "A kiss for luck," he said, and pulled her mouth down to his.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron's going down.

Jaime took a moment to memorize the way Brienne’s lips felt against his—plush, dry, perfect—before pulling away. He tried to read the look on her face, but then he was distracted by Ron’s jeering voice.

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal all over Westeros!” he howled, then barked like a dog.

Jaime jerked his head around to glare at the other man. He took a step away from Brienne, then another and another, until he was positioned to serve. He glanced at Brienne who was looking at him, eyes narrowed.   _Well. Shit._ At least she seemed to be ignoring Team Asshole, which was more than he was able to do. Jaime supposed they’d hash it out later, which he was both dreading and looking forward to. He threw her a wink. She scowled. “Nine-one!” he called, tossing the ball into the air, the heel of his hand connecting with the leather. He watched it arc over the net.

The next four points came as easy as pie.

“Thirteen-one!” Jaime cried. He threw the ball into the air, jumping up to spike it over the net, watching it land in the sand as the two other men missed it entirely. One more point and this would be over. He’d win the bet. _Gods,_ he was sick of these assholes. They’d leave. Brienne could relax.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have realized that Ron, the leader of Team Asshole, would try something underhanded. But before Jaime knew it, the other man had picked up the ball and smashed it back over the net—right into the side of Brienne’s face. He heard the sickening smack of leather meeting flesh, her surprised gasp of pain as her fingers wrapped over her cheekbone, and was at her side in a flash.

“Whoops!” Ron called, insincerity thick in his voice.

Jaime ignored him, concentrating on Brienne as he peeled her fingers away from her face. Her cheek was bright red, puffy along her cheek bone as it was beginning to bruise. She was blinking away tears, her pale blonde lashes fluttering rapidly. One spilled over, and Jaime saw red.

“Do you need some ice?” he asked quietly, barely registering Margaery over Brienne’s shoulder, hovering worriedly by the sidelines.

Brienne shook her head, dashing the tears away quickly. “This is embarrassing,” she muttered.

Jaime was relieved that she seemed to be mostly all right. He looked over the net and saw Hyle looking at Ron almost angrily. Ron was watching Brienne with a sick, smug sort of satisfaction on his fat face. He turned back to her. “You have _nothing_ to be embarrassed about,” he said in a low voice. “Now, are you ready to send that asshole home?”

Brienne gave a sharp nod.

Jaime walked the few steps to the sidelines to grab the ball. Margaery had picked it up and was holding it out to him. He’d never seen her look so furious.

 _“Pummel_ him,” she hissed.

Jaime’s fingers closed around the ball. “Oh, I will,” he promised with a sharp grin. He walked back past Brienne to take his place. “When it comes back over, let me spike,” he murmured.

She nodded.

“Fourteen-one!” Jaime called, serving the ball over the net lightly, right to Ron. He set it to Hyle, who set it back, Ron spiking it back over.

Jaime was waiting for him, both hands clasped to bump the ball to Brienne. She wore a look of concentration, her brow furrowed as she set it back up with the tips of her fingers. Jaime jumped high in the air, his fist connecting with the leather with a satisfying _smack_ as he put all the strength he could behind the spike.

The _crunch_ of the ball as it met with Ron’s face was music to his ears. The other man fell to his knees, clutching his nose and mouth, blood streaming from under his hands and staining his shirt. He was moaning pitifully.

Jaime hoped he’d broken his nose. He looked over at Brienne, who was watching Ron, her jaw set. Her head turned towards him, and Jaime braced himself for a scowl, a glare, or worse. Brienne never would have smashed Ron’s face. She was far too honorable.

Instead, though, he saw that the other half of her face had turned pink with pleasure, her lips crimped together as she fought a smile—and lost. Jaime grinned back, unable to help himself.

“I think we won that game,” he said casually, raising his eyebrows.

Brienne rolled her eyes, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. “You know,” she finally managed, “I think you might be right.”

He glanced back over the net to see Hyle helping Ron to his feet, his expression irritated. “Well, a bet’s a bet,” he called. “You need help getting back to your cars?” He was all false concern as he smiled sweetly at Ron, who glared back over his clasped hands. Jaime waved his fingers. “See you in another five years!”

 _“Jaime,”_ Brienne groaned. He met her eyes as she sighed and shook her head, giving him a half-smile.

Jaime let his eyes wander over her face, taking in her brilliant blue eyes and freckled skin, her puffy cheek and broad, crooked nose, before finally coming to rest on her wide, smiling mouth. He thought about kissing her again, throwing caution to the wind and sliding his hand behind her neck once more. It would be so easy…

He swallowed heavily, looking away. She deserved more than an impetuous kiss while he pretended to be her date at her high school reunion. She deserved something real, something—

Jaime sighed and shook his head. He was confusing himself. Of course it had been real when he’d kissed her earlier, but he’d gone off half-cocked, and who knew what ridiculous thing Brienne had convinced herself of by now? He knew her tendency to generalize, to write herself off, to explain things away.

He forced a smile to his face and looked back at Brienne, who was looking at him warily now. _Ah, Brienne._ His smile turned genuine as he remembered when they’d first met, how distrustful they’d been of one another, how he’d loved to poke and prod at her, trying to elicit any sort of outburst. And he remembered when that had all changed, when he’d nearly lost his hand and she’d been there through it all. How could he not love every stupidly honorable, faithful inch of her? _It’s time to be honest with her,_ he thought.

Jaime nudged her shoulder with his own, the press of her bare arm against his almost shocking. “I don’t think we can top that performance,” he said airily. “Why put the other teams through it?” Brienne huffed out a laugh next to him.

“I think you’re right,” she said with a sigh.

“Are you all funned out?” he asked, turning a bit serious.

Brienne seemed to think for a moment, gazing over the golden sand to the ocean beyond. “I think I am,” she admitted.

“Still think it was a terrible idea?” 

She smiled, wide and toothy, her eyes lighting up. “It wasn’t as terrible as I thought it would be.”

“Well, as long as it wasn’t a waste,” he teased. “Though time around me, I mean…how could _that_ be a waste?”

Brienne rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder.

“Movie and that comfortably hideous sofa of yours? Dornish takeout?” he suggested. “My treat. I made you come here, after all.”

“It’s the least you could do,” she agreed, mock serious. “And you _love_ my sofa.”

“I do,” he agreed. “Now—”

“Brienne!” Margaery exclaimed, running between them with a blue chemical ice pack. She pressed it into Brienne’s hand, then looked between them. She smiled knowingly. “Are you two leaving?” Jaime wondered if he was the only one who could hear the suggestion in her voice.

Brienne shuffled her feet awkwardly. “Yeah, um…yeah.”

Mercifully, Margaery let it go at that. She patted Brienne’s arm. “I’ll see you later. Lunch next week?” Brienne nodded silently, watching her friend as she left.

Jaime cleared his throat. “You ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

Jaime slung an arm over her shoulder and steered her towards the pavilion. “Now, I know you’ll be sad to see me back in my clothes, but let’s go get your bag, wench.”

“In your _dreams,_ Lannister,” she muttered.

Jaime laughed the whole way back to the pavilion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne clear the air.

Jaime shrugged into his red Hawaiian-print shirt, letting the edges hang open. He stood in the cool shade of the pavilion, fidgeting only a little as Brienne stepped into her white denim shorts. He could still feel the curve of her hip under his palm, warm and strong…

Brienne was pulling her shirt back on over her swim tank, her head reappearing suddenly, her hair disheveled. She met his eyes, blushing a brilliant red, and he couldn’t help but grin at the picture she made.

“You ready?” he asked, grabbing her duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He picked up the ice pack lying nearby and handed it back to her. “You should keep this on your cheek a while longer.”

Brienne took the ice pack and rolled her eyes, but pressed it to her face anyway.

They walked out to his car, his hand automatically going to her lower back, and when did _that_ start to feel so natural? The smile Brienne gifted him with when he opened her door reminded him of the treatment she’d come to expect from men. It was outrageous that such a small gesture could mean so much. He closed her door gently, then opened the trunk and threw in the duffel bag. He rounded the car and climbed in, letting his head fall back against the seat.

“Well, wench, we survived your reunion.” Jaime rolled his head to the side to look at her

“We did,” she conceded with a small smile, gesturing to her bruised cheek. “Only a little worse for wear.”

“I can’t wait to do this again in another five years,” he teased. The half of Brienne’s face not covered by the ice pack face fell at his words, though she tried to cover it up with a noncommittal noise, looking out the window. He frowned at the sudden tension. “Brienne—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Did you want to try that new Dornish place? The Water Garden?” she asked the window. Her voice sounded a little thick. She still wouldn’t look at him.

Jaime felt his stomach sink. “Hey,” he said, squeezing her knee. She flinched away, and his stomach sank even further. “I know I’m an idiot, but I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Brienne sighed, her shoulders falling heavily. After a long moment, she finally looked at him, her eyes bright but dry. Jaime met her gaze steadily. She gave him a half-smile, looking to the side.

“It’s not exactly reassuring to know my best friend thinks I’ll still need a fake date five years from now.”

Jaime was surprised, his mind racing at her words.

“I don’t think you really meant it that way,” she blurted out, hands waving towards him vaguely. “I just—” She sighed again. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. But Jaime, five years from now, you’ll have a g-girlfriend or a… _wife,”_ she stuttered out, turning to face the window once more. “Five years from now—I don’t—I want—” She made a frustrated noise, scrubbing her fingers through her hair.

Jaime felt a squeezing sensation in his chest as she struggled to voice what was in her head. He was reminded suddenly of how young she really was and the tender heart she concealed from the world. He had seen it himself only rarely.

Brienne swallowed thickly. “I don’t want to need another fake date,” she said in a rush, staring at the ice pack now resting in her lap.

Jaime paused a moment. He stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He needed to choose his next words carefully. “Who said it would be fake?” he asked quietly.

Brienne drew in a sharp breath next to him. He turned in his seat to find her staring back at him, eyes huge in her face and such an astonishing blue. Before he’d even thought it through, he was holding her bruised cheek in his hand, leaning close. He couldn’t stop staring at her lips, remembering how soft and plush they’d felt when he’d kissed her earlier. He was close enough to feel her breath against his cheek, to count her eyelashes, to—

“Please don’t,” Brienne said in a small voice.

Jaime drew in a shocked breath, moving back in his seat, stung by her rejection. He let his hand drop to his lap.

“Not when you don’t mean it.”  Brienne looked so uncharacteristically vulnerable, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting back and forth.

_Not a rejection, then._ “You think I don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” she scowled.

“I think I’d know that better than you,” Jaime smiled.

“I think you’re an idiot.”

His grin widened, sliding his hand around the back of her neck. “I mean it,” he murmured, urging her closer and kissing the corner of her mouth. He moved his other hand up to hold her face, lips sliding over hers more fully, letting his tongue run briefly over her bottom lip. He felt her fingers slide into his hair and broke away, drawing in a deep breath. “I _definitely_ mean it,” he rasped. She smiled shyly, and he couldn’t help but kiss her again.

Jaime didn’t know how long they sat there in his car, making out like a couple of teenagers. It could have been minutes or hours that he was lost in the feeling of her wide, lush lips, and the soft, smooth skin at the nape of her neck. One of her hands was fisted in his shirt, the other running over his stomach. He moaned, the sound muffled by her mouth.

Jaime was brought back to the present by a sharp rapping on the window behind him, jerking around to see none other than Margaery grinning at him from the other side of the glass. He raised one eyebrow, matching her smirk with one of his own as he tried to calm his breathing. He could only imagine how red Brienne was behind him. Margaery motioned for Jaime to roll down the window, which he reluctantly did.

“You two better find a room.” Margaery’s smile turned lascivious. “This is a terrible idea, you know. There are _children_ here.”

“Oh my _gods,”_ Jaime heard Brienne mutter behind him. _“Shut up_ and _go away,_ Marg.”

Margaery laughed delightedly and hurried off.

Jaime chuckled, leaning his head back against his seat. He could see Brienne from the corner of his eye. She was nibbling on the corner of her mouth, lips red and kiss-swollen, her hair like a bird’s nest from running his fingers through it.

He turned to look at her, knowing he was grinning like an idiot. “So, do you want to climb in the back seat or should we have dinner first?”

_“Jaime.”_ She rolled her eyes. “You said Dornish takeout and a movie, right?”

“And then fucking on your couch.”

_“Jaime!”_

He couldn’t help the laughter escaping him at her scandalized tone. Her face was tomato red.

“Fine. Food and a movie.” He paused. “Then _groping_ on your couch halfway through.”

Brienne scowled, pretending irritation, but as he turned the ignition and backed out of the parking spot, he noticed the smile growing on her face.

Jaime squeezed her thigh, the muscles twitching under her skin. He waited, but it was only a few moments before her long fingers were threading through his, squeezing back tentatively.

“Is that a yes?”

Brienne’s flush grew darker. “Maybe.”

“To the groping or the other thing?” he asked, grinning at her lewdly.

“W-we’ll see,” she mumbled. Her face was nearly purple.

_Gods,_ yes.

This was shaping up to be the best idea he’d ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. :)
> 
> And thank you to ikkiM for being the best beta a girl could ask for.


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